It's About Time
by MusicKeeper
Summary: What will John have to say about his observations of Sherlock and Molly? A prompt from my good friend Shining in the Darkness.


**A/N: 'Ello, everyone! I have returned with yet another oneshot! This is my first Sherlock fic, and frankly, I'm a mite apprehensive about putting it up. I honestly wouldn't have written anything Sherlock if not for a friend's challenge. Thank you, Gwen, for throwing me into the water and forcing me to try something I never would've done otherwise. And thank you, LavenderAndTime, for betaing this and keeping the story in character for me! This would not have been posted if not for y'all!**

**One more thing. THIS IS A SHERLOLLY FIC. If you do not like Sherlolly, do not read. Don't tell me you were not warned.**

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Rain splattered on the window and mingled with the soft tapping of computer keys. Sherlock Holmes found the two sounds to be strangely relaxing as he lounged on the sofa, a cup of tea in his hand. For once, his company was not John Watson, but instead Molly Hooper. She sat quietly beside Sherlock, sipping the warm tea.

The days had been rather chilly lately and, coupled with a downpour, did not make a pleasant combination. As Sherlock had started out of Bart's morgue, the storm had begun. So he had turned to go back inside to wait out the storm.

As it turned out, Molly was also preparing to leave. Seeing that the rain would not let up anytime soon, the two decided to share Molly's umbrella and walk to Sherlock's flat. When Sherlock and Molly had made their way into the flat, laughing at something he had not overheard, John Watson had obviously been slightly confused. Muttering to himself about making tea, he had carried his laptop to the kitchen to give the two some privacy.

"So you finally figured out the case then?" Molly asked, making conversation.

Sherlock grinned as he answered. "As a matter of fact, I did. The victim's sister committed the crime."

"Did she really?"

"Yes. The unfortunate thing is that the girl murdered her brother because of some dispute over their mother's will. The domestics were not worth my time."

Molly giggled a bit before settling down and taking another sip of her tea. The rain pounded against the window harder than before, and the wind blew mournfully past. Molly shivered, a mite uncomfortable.

Sherlock immediately noticed Molly's discomfort. "Are you all right?" he asked with concern.

Molly gave him a weak smile. "Y-yeah, I'm fine."

Sherlock was not reassured and quickly figured out that Molly was most likely afraid of thunderstorms. His deduction was confirmed once the first crack of thunder shook the flat. Molly jumped and buried her face in his shoulder so she would not have to see the lightning bolt that would follow suit.

Sherlock wrapped a comforting arm around Molly and silently stroked her hair, hoping that would calm her down. To his surprise, it did just that. Molly relaxed under Sherlock's hand and snuggled a bit closer to him. He was relatively astonished to find that he liked the contact. Smiling, Sherlock looked down at the pathologist to see that she had closed her eyes. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, and Molly responded by drawing her legs up onto the sofa and laying her head on his chest. Sherlock's heartbeat blocked out the noise of the storm, making her feel safe and secure. Soon, she fell asleep. Sherlock was not far behind her.

Time passed. Sherlock turned his head in his drowsiness, not wanting to wake up. The warmth in his chest was an extremely nice feeling. When he glanced down, he remembered the reason. Molly lay on his chest, her eyelids fluttering. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was and sit up. A pink blush spread across Molly's face once the realization had set in. "Er, Sherlock? How long have we been asleep?" she asked shyly.

Sherlock exhaled and put his hands behind his mess of dark curls. "About an hour, I would think," he answered nonchalantly, when in truth his brain was trying to process everything that had happened. It was failing miserably.

Molly peered out the window. "It looks like there's a break in the storm."

Sherlock also looked out. "Perhaps," he said, wracking his already overloaded brain for an excuse to keep Molly with him longer.

Molly flashed a smile before standing.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, slightly upset.

"Home, silly." Molly reached for her coat. "Thank you for letting me stay awhile. I had a lovely time."

"Likewise. Would you like me to walk you home?"

"Sherlock, that really isn't necessary."

"Molly, please. At least take a cab? It's pouring out there."

"Sherlock -"

"I'll pay the fare. It would not do for you to catch something."

Molly hesitated before answering. "Alright."

"Good." Sherlock stood and made his way to the coat rack, reaching for his black trench coat. Molly opened her mouth to protest before clamping it shut. She knew very well that once Sherlock's mind was made up, any effort put towards trying to change it was pointless. He was going to wait outside with her, period.

Molly slipped into her own coat and followed Sherlock outside. The two stood on the steps, scanning the street for a cab. Unfortunately, none were to be seen. Sherlock, though, knew one would soon pass, so he did not suggest returning inside.

Sherlock glanced down at Molly, who was studying him. "What has you so lost in thought, sweet Molly?" he asked.

A faint blush appeared on Molly's face. Suddenly finding her fingers quite intriguing, she looked down at the ground.

"Now, Molly," Sherlock said, taking Molly's hand. "I thought we were friends. Don't friends converse about things?"

Molly nodded in reply, her face growing pinker and pinker. "Well, yes."

"Then tell me." Sherlock took Molly's other hand and studied her, making deductions. Dilated pupils. Flushed cheeks. He could feel her pulse pounding against her wrist and couldn't help smirking a bit. Molly didn't want to tell him, but he knew.

And if Sherlock was telling the truth, he felt the same way.

"Er ..." Molly took a breath, gathering her thoughts.

"Wait." Sherlock leaned down, his own heart pounding against his ribcage, and pressed his lips to Molly's. He felt her hands untangling themselves from his and resting around his neck as he closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Molly's petite frame and drew her close, intensely aware of her whispery sigh. For the first time in his life, Sherlock's brain became point-blank except for one person: the girl in his arms, the girl who counted, Molly Hooper.

After what seemed like years, the two broke apart. Sherlock gazed down at Molly while she continued to embrace him. Neither noticed the rain pouring onto them both and soaking them to the bone. In fact, they were so caught up in each other that they almost missed the next cab. Sherlock saw it first and hailed it just in the nick of time.

Sherlock silently guided Molly to the cab, his arm around her shoulders. As he opened the door for her, she hesitated before stepping into the cab. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" she asked him with a touch of hope in her voice.

Sherlock smiled gently at Molly. "You will," he confirmed. He enjoyed her smile for a moment before shutting the cab door, handing payment to the cabbie, and heading back to the flat.

Entering, Sherlock was surprised to see John in his armchair typing away on his laptop as if Molly had never been over. He ignored it and turned to hang up his coat.

"What was that all about?"

Sherlock hung up his coat as though he had not heard John's question. Inside, he reeled. How could he have known that John had been watching Sherlock and Molly as they slept? He couldn't have known that John was quite curious about the goings-on between the two and had watched from the window as the couple waited for the cab. And he certainly wouldn't have known that John had had a smile on his face as he watched Sherlock finally come to terms with what it is like to love.

As Sherlock gathered the mugs from the coffee table, the clickety-clack of computer keys stopped abruptly. Surprised, he glanced up.

John grinned widely at the consulting detective. "It was about time," he said approvingly.

A corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Yes, it was," he replied.

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**Love it? Hate it? Want to light it up and watch it burn? Review and let me know!**


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